


something i don't know

by TheBrokaryotes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I listened to like 2 hours worth of thunderstorm noises while making this, M/M, This is Bad, keith is afraid of thunderstorms, lance thinks bees are sexy, not much hurt mostly comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrokaryotes/pseuds/TheBrokaryotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Lance knows things about bees and math and thunderstorms, but he doesn’t really know that much about Keith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	something i don't know

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Though he was young, Lance thought he knew a lot.

He knew, for example, that when bees are born, they are fully grown. Sure, they begin as larvae, but when they come out of their individual egg chambers, they are always ready to work. He didn’t really know _why_ he knew that, it was just a little fact he kept stored away for no reason in particular.

He also happened to know what the Pythagorean Theorem was, knew that when you added the squares of _a_ and _b_ , you would get the square of _c_. He and trigonometry (or any math, for that matter) had never been the best of friends, and of the subjects he was forced to study during his stay at the Garrison, math always seemed to drag him down the proverbial drain in terms of a GPA. His teachers blamed lack of understanding, Hunk blamed lack of studying, but Lance personally believed that math just wasn’t a sexy enough topic for him to really care about.

Lance was also, inexplicably, aware of how thunderstorms were created. He knew that they resulted in the rapid upward movement of warm, moist air that, when cooled, was capable of forming cumulonimbus clouds which reached heights of nearly twelve miles into the sky. When the clouds reached their dew point temperature, they would begin to condense into water droplets, and sometimes, the clouds themselves could become electrically charged. In order to release their energy and stabilize themselves, they would let out strikes in the form of light and heat energy between each other, or down to the ground below, forming lightning, which, in turn, would create thunder.

Lance was aware of all these things, taking comfort especially in the final fact. He had always been fond of thunderstorms, thought they were cool and scary, but in a way that only served to pump him up. He loved the rain, he loved watching lightning; listening to the crackle of thunder, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck and his arms stand up on end with goosebumps when one would clap closeby, it invigorated him to no end. He knew it was just nature, just energy passing back and forth between clouds, so there was never anything to be scared of.

What Lance did not know was that Keith was _terrified_ of thunderstorms.

Lance was pretty sure that he wasn’t _supposed_ to know that. They weren’t even really supposed to be there, on the sweet little Earth-like planet they had landed on for a liberation mission. But, after their success, the locals who had beamed out the distress signal insisted they remain for a night of feasting and celebration, begging to host them for that evening.

Not wanting to be rude—or get on anyone’s bad side—Shiro had called up to Allura and asked her to land the ship. Lance had originally bemoaned the idea of staying all night here, but after a quick tour through the village that reminded him almost of some of the little portside towns of his home back on Earth, he lit up. Missing his planet was painful, and a little slice of something like it numbed that, if only slightly.

The celebration lasted for nearly four hours (“Pidge, do you have a watch?” “Why?” “Because we’ve been dancing for decades and I want to know how long it’s really been.”) before it began to grow dark, the second of the planet’s two suns finally dipping below the horizon and casting the village in the heavy, dripping glow of hot candle wax beneath a scarlet flame.

Nearly as quickly as the flame began to burn, so was it snuffed out by dark, inky clouds that percolated over the mountain peaks in the distance. The locals muttered to one another, and one of a higher stature had approached Shiro and Allura and informed them that they would have to end the festivities early, but invited them and the rest of the Paladins to make themselves comfortable in the lodgings they had set up.

Even as everyone else filtered into their respective tents, Lance remained outside with a few other brave and rebellious aliens, circling around the fire with them to watch the storm roll in. One of his favorite parts of storms back on Earth was the calmness, the serenity of a still planet, right before the wind would break and the sky would open up to rain down its calamity. This storm did not disappoint with that, leading Lance on for what seemed like hours before a clap of thunder echoed through the valley, thrilling Lance to his core.

Lance’s company began to get antsy as thunder continued to crash, and especially so when lightning, electric purple and mint green in color (well, Lance figured, this planet couldn’t get _everything_ right) began sparking through the clouds, roiling with anger and power. They begged him to return to his tent as it began to rain, harmless water which Lance thought actually tasted like sugar, tugging at him to get him to rise.

“Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming,” he relented finally, rising up off his seat and shooing them off, taking another look at the sky under the shielding of his gloved hand before trekking off to his assigned tent.

_Chink._

The click of metal sounds up from underneath Lance’s foot, and he glances down at the loamy sand. A flash of metal gleams up at him, glinting with water droplets, and Lance leans down to inspect it, brushing at it gently to reveal a hilt.

A knife. One of Keith’s knives, to be exact.

Lance felt a tug at his gut, obnoxiously irritated that Keith had somehow managed to bring with _and lose_ one of his knives on this mission.

 _Where the hell does he even keep these things? In his suit? Up his ass?_ Lance puzzles, picking up the blade and inspecting it as closely as he could in the rain. He’d half a mind to keep it and hide it from Keith; the thought of the Red Paladin panicking because he’d left a knife on an alien planet and begging Allura to turn the ship around to retrieve it was one almost too good to let up.

Unfortunately, if he were to get busted and Keith were to find out he was in possession of his precious little dagger, Lance feared he may very well end up with a few holes in his belly, or his back, or pretty much anywhere holes could be made.

Shuddering, he twirls the knife in his hand, and drops in unceremoniously back onto the ground. He elects to take the high road and return it right then; maybe, if he was lucky, Keith would remember this and stop being such a jackass all the time. He smiles at himself as he picks the knife up again.

 _What a good guy I am,_ he commends himself, careful to hold the blade away from his body as he treads over to Keith’s tent.

Thunder crashes loudly overhead as he calls out Keith’s name, drowning his voice out. Shrugging and hoping Keith wasn’t doing something gross, he ducks underneath the cloth at the tent’s entrance.

“Hey, Pretty Boy, I found one of your little switchblades or something out by the bonfire,” he announces, almost kneeling to get through the low threshold. “Lucky for you, I’m a nice guy, so just take it back and I won’t ask where… you… keep it…”

Lance had trouble discerning what he was seeing at first, especially in the dull glow of Keith’s Paladin suit and his own, but after staring for a good solid ten seconds, the reality of the scene before him becomes apparent.

Keith had curled himself into a tight ball, hugging his knees to his chest and propping his elbows up on top of them. His head was lowered, face hidden under his hair, fingers tangled fiercely with the dark locks that flowed loosely over his shoulders. He looked so small, so utterly insignificant, and the palpable energy flowing off of him in waves was so _terrified_ that Lance was beginning to feel it a bit himself.

Lance knew what all that meant. He knew what that body language insinuated, knew that the tiny noises emitting from Keith’s huddled form were anything but joyous. Of the things he knew, he knew that much, but the truth hidden behind that knowledge was still shielded from his view.

Timorously, Keith looks up at Lance with eyes wider than saucers and irises icy blue, illuminated by the soft glow of his suit. He swallows, and Lance can see his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. 

“Lan—”

Another flash of lightning steals the breath out of Keith’s lungs, and on its heels a thunderclap that rocks Lance’s vision. He watches helplessly as Keith buries his face in his knees again, heels of his palms pressed hard against his ears. The whimpers he tries to stifle with limited success send pangs of sorrow through Lance’s heart.

The cloth draped over the tent entrance flaps down onto Lance’s back, slick with rainwater, forcing the brunette inside. The noises within were only minutely duller than before, but at least the ground of the shelter was dry.

“Keith? Buddy?” Another thunderclap echoes Lance’s words as he stoops low to cross over towards the Red Paladin. Keith tenses but remains silent, fingers trembling.

Lance worries at his bottom lip, dropping to his knees and tucking his legs beneath him once he was a few feet away from Keith. Lightning outside struck patterns of light along the walls of the tent, illuminating the pair in neon purple or green for only a split second before disappearing again.

Silence, permeated by rain and the occasional distant roll of thunder, surrounded them for a moment. In that moment, Lance took the time to set Keith’s knife down in the space between them, nudging it closer with his finger.

“I… I found that by the fire.” His voice is tight, cautious. Keith glances up again, brow now furrowed in confusion. His gaze flicks from Lance to the knife a few times before he slowly, stiffly uncurls himself and drags the blade closer. Lance thinks he hears him murmur a thank you, but it’s lost to the pitter patter of rain outside.

Awkwardness hangs low over their heads like stratus clouds. Lance clears his throat, mouth dry.

“So, um, y’know, like, totally none of my business, but…” Lance rubs at the back of his neck, scratching the hair on his nape. “Are you… are you afraid of—”

A vicious, hot crackle of lightning and a roar of thunder cut Lance off, the angry duo crashing together in the sky overhead. Keith _yelps_ , body so taut and rigid that Lance was afraid he was going to snap.

On impulse, the Blue Paladin reaches out, hand ghosting over Keith’s knee. “H-hey, Keith, bro, chill out! I-it’s just a thunderstorm!”

Keith recoils violently, untangling himself from the knotted ball he had once been and pushing far away from Lance’s touch. “ _Don’t touch me!_ ” he yells, breathing ragged, eyes fiery with agitation, with panic.

Lance’s hand retreats back to the safety of his chest, shoulders tensing. He’d seen Keith angry, but this was far different. This wasn’t the usual frustrated red hot anger of an irritated teen, fed up with Lance’s antics and ready to fight at a moment’s notice. This was the long, drawn out frustration and dread of someone with a phobia, with a deep-rooted fear in something out of their control. It scared Lance to think about it; Keith was the passion of a recently-ignited flame, never the dissatisfied scream of a kettle boiling over.

An apology trips itself up in Lance’s throat. “I—I’m sorry, I just… I was just—”

Keith’s nostrils flare, his lips parting to reveal gritted teeth. “Yes, okay?! Yes, I’m afraid of thunderstorms!” His fingers tighten into fists, leaving marks in the sandy ground below. “They’re loud, they’re bright, they’re _goddamn terrifying_ , and I hate them!”

With his final declaration, Keith appears to deflate, his expression slacking and shifting into something more feeble. He drops his eyes, boring a hole in the ground before Lance.

“I hate them,” he repeats, inhaling sharply and burying his head in his hands, retreating into himself once again.

Lance watches in awe and fright, letting Keith’s confession sink in. The knowledge that had hidden itself from him before now stared him in the face. He could barely accept it. _How could Keith possibly be afraid of thunderstorms?_ They were nature’s firefights, and God knows Team Voltron had seen plenty of those already. What made storms so different?

Thunder booms overhead once more as Lance crawls a little closer, but makes sure not to touch Keith in the slightest. He shifts around so he’s seated right by the Red Paladin’s side, a foot away.

“Y’know, I used to be afraid of thunderstorms, too,” Lance admitted, trying to keep the mood light. Keith remained still.

“I would always hide under the bed when they got really bad. I just hated how loud the thunder was, and I always thought it was coming to get me.” Lance punctuates his words with a light laugh, keeping his eyes on Keith. No response, but his form did shift a little.

Lance sighs, turning away. He leans back on his palms, shoulders drawn in. “My mom would always come find me during one, and she would hold me in her arms and tell me that there was nothing to be afraid of.” Memories of his mother, of his whole family, flooded towards Lance, not for the first time that day. He bites back the overwhelming homesickness in his gut and continues talking.

“She… she would always tell me that the thunder was just angels bowling. And that lightning was just God setting off fireworks.” Looking back, Lance felt silly for believing in that, even as a young child. Keith must have thought it was ridiculous to, with the way he looked up and fixed Lance with a slightly judgemental gaze.

“I’m an atheist, and that’s stupid,” he croaks out, and Lance bristles.

“Hey, come on, that’s my mom you’re talking about!” he cries. He didn’t care if Keith didn't believe in angels bowling or God having a Fourth of July party, Lance would defend his mother until the end of time. Keith looks away, staring straight ahead at the tent walls.

“I’ve never liked thunderstorms,” he begins, quiet and tinny. He juts his jaw out a few times, like he was just now getting used to speaking. “I thought that maybe I’d get over them when we started doing missions and—” A thunderclap silences Keith for a moment, sending a shiver down his spine. “—and using all those weapons would make it easier. Hearing all those explosions would be just like getting caught in a storm.”

Keith sighs, the noise quivery. “But it wasn’t. Firefights and weapon noises are nothing like a storm. When I fight, I’m in control. I know where the noises are coming from and I know how to stop them. But with these… with storms, I… there’s nothing. There’s no pattern, there’s no semblance of order at all, it’s just… chaos.”

Tucking his head between his legs again, Keith takes in a rattled breath. “And I can’t make it stop.”

Lance watches as Keith breathes, shoulders rising and falling in a shuddery rhythm. He picks his words carefully, trying to think of some way to make Keith feel even a little bit better.

“You know,” he starts, sinking further back onto his palms, “unlike real actual explosions and gunfire, storms can’t hurt you unless you actually get struck by lightning or something.” Lance feels that his friendly advice may be mildly counterproductive, but it was out there now and he couldn’t take it back.

A soft snort, half-hearted and stifled, sounds off from Keith’s direction. “Tell me something I don’t know, genius,” he grumbles pathetically.

A challenge Lance was more than happy to accept had been laid out before him. He feels a grin tug at the corners of his mouth, and as a clap of thunder echoes over the valley, he pushes himself off his hands and scooches closer to Keith. The ravenette glances up at him, wary.

“Well, did you know that bees are born fully grown?”

The look that Keith gives Lance at that moment will forever be emblazoned in Lance’s brain. It was the perfect mixture of confusion, hardcore judgement, and just a sheer lack of computation.

“What,” Keith deadpans, sounding less like a raspy child and more like the irritated Paladin Lance was used to.

The brunette grins. “Or that the Pythagorean theorem is _a_ plus _b_ squared equals _c_ squared?"

Keith had nearly unfurled himself at this point, laser focused on Lance. It was like he was trying to solve a puzzle—an incredibly confounding puzzle—and the final clue to it was inscribed somewhere on Lance’s face in ridiculously tiny print.

“That’s trig one-oh-one, dumbass, of course I know what the Pythagorean theorem is.” Keith’s voice is acerbic, only slightly lilted with anxiety.

Continuing to smile, Lance leans forward, close to Keith’s face. He lets his eyes go hard and focused, eyebrows furrowing into what he hoped was an expression of determination.

“Do you know,” he asks, voice hushed under the sound of the rain, “how thunderstorms are _really_ created?”

Keith’s nostrils flare and his brow twitches; he pulls his face away from Lance’s, still squinting at him, still unsure. “Yyyeah…?” he tries. “Some clouds get really big in the sky and rain hellfire and scream at us.”

Lance clicks his tongue, shaking his head. He forgets how violently Keith relented being touched before and hooks an arm over his teammate’s shoulder. “Allow me to educate you, oh Ignorant One, on the ways of the thunderstorm.”

Keith is stiff and unsure under Lance’s grip, groaning softly as if in pain, but he doesn’t recoil like last time. Lance makes sure Keith is listening, before turning his attention skywards, to the ceiling of the tent. He holds his free arm up, gesturing broadly.

“It starts with hot air, the kind like your head is full of—” Lance earns himself a jab to the ribcage, Keith shifting to a better position to maul him if necessary, their sides now more flush to each other.

“The air rises up into the sky, like, a bajillion miles up in there, and then it cools waaaaaay the hell down.” As Lance speaks, he raises his hand and then lowers it, bringing it close to their faces slowly with a descending whistle. Keith’s eyes are trained on his gloved hand like a sniper’s sights.

Lance opens his fingers up gently, like a flower uncurling in the sun. “When it condenses enough and gathers enough vapor, it forms a giant-ass cloud—” he circles his hand around in the air. “—called a cumulonimbus.”

“You’re not blowing my mind or anything with the hand-puppet show, just so you’re aware,” Keith grumbles. Lance knocks at his shoulder pad, the hard plastic-like material stinging his knuckles faintly.

“I am the teacher right now, Wise Guy. You gotta raise your hand to speak. When the cloud gets too big and too cool, it hits this… point… dew point?” Lance glances to the side, racking his brain as it lapses briefly. “Yeah, dew point,” he decides, “and when it hits that, water begins to condense into droplets, which fall and create rain.”

Keith, unsurprisingly, seems stultified. “You just described rain, idiot. That’s not a storm at all.”

Lance runs the hand on Keith’s shoulder down his bicep and grips it tightly, yanking it up and waggling it around. “ _Ra-a-aise yo-o-our ha-a-and!_ ” he repeats, dropping the limb that Keith wrenches away from his grasp. “I was _getting there_.”

Keith huffs. “Then get on with it, _Teach._ ” he growls, tensing up and nestling a little closer as more lightning breaks outside and more thunder rolls over the sky.

The lecture continues. “Because water is polar, sometimes the molecules in the clouds become electrically charged.” Lance rubs his palms together to simulate friction, squeezing Keith uncomfortably close and probably choking him in the process.

“The clouds don’t like it when they’re charged too much one way or the other, so to balance themselves out, they release their energy—” His hands part, fingers closing up as they pull away from one another and then snapping apart once they are spread wide. “—in the form of light and heat, or lightning.”

Dropping one hand to his lap and letting the other drape loosely over Keith’s shoulder, Lance lets out a light, contented sigh. “When that happens over and over again, we get lightning storms, and in turn, thunder.”

“That was the worst lecture I’ve ever sat through,” Keith concedes. His fingers had come to rest on Lance’s leg, gripping tightly every time thunder sounded.

Lance shrugs. “Not all learning is fun, unfortunately, but all learning is necessary.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Hey, I’m the one who knew some in-depth shit about how thunderstorms work, Pretty Boy.”

Keith lets out a puff of air, turning his head away. Lance notices how relaxed he’d become compared to before. He was still tense, of course, but his eyes were no longer alight with panic, and his entire body wasn’t rigid with fear.

“Thanks,” comes his tired whisper, and Lance is afraid that maybe the quietly dissipating rain may have marred his hearing a little.

“Hm?” he hums, cocking an eyebrow.

“I said thanks,” Keith repeats, a bit too loud. He shrinks back with the next thunderclap, but it’s nothing like before. “You didn’t… have to stay here. You could have just left, or hell, not have even come in. I didn’t want you here at first, but…”

Keith looks up, and Lance’s breath hitches a little bit at the cool, steady gaze locked onto his own, at the soft twitch of a pink-lipped smile that he knew was meant for _him_ and him alone in that moment. Something about that knowledge made it feel more real, more important, and very confusing.

“I’m glad you stayed.”

**Author's Note:**

> then they go watch the storm and make out the end


End file.
